


A Day for Dr. Gottlieb

by patster223



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - World War II, Dresses, First Time, Hermann is a social secretary/tutor, Hermann wears a dress, Jealousy, Lingerie, M/M, Neuroatypical Newt, Newt is a singer, Panic Attack, Pining, References to antisemitism, Romance, Sexual Content, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patster223/pseuds/patster223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Hermann wants is steady employment. If that means becoming Newt Geiszler's social secretary, then so be it. Of course, Hermann doesn't expect to be pulled into a world of sex, drama, lingerie showings, extravagance -- and yes, love -- but it certainly makes for an interesting day. </p><p>An AU where Hermann is Newt's social secretary, based on the movie Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day for Dr. Gottlieb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skull_Bearer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skull_Bearer/gifts).



> Written for the 2014 pacrim secret santa for [skull-bearer](http://skull-bearer.tumblr.com/). They wanted an AU where Hermann is Newt's social secretary, based on the book Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. Unfortunately I didn't have time to read the book, but hopefully an AU of the movie is still up to standard (I promise I didn't indulge in any of the movie's needless girl fights)! : ) Thank you to [cypress-tree](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cypress_tree) for betaing this and making it a lot better!

Hermann does not make it a rule that clients must be fully clothed when they answer the door, but that’s mostly because it had never occurred to him that it _needed_ to be a rule. He’s a tutor, for God’s sake! His clients are normally disinterested parents who sniff at him from tailored suits and smooth furs, not-whatever it is that Mr. Newton Geiszler is wearing. The scrap of fabric is _probably_ intended to be a robe: sleek, sheer, and just a bit too big on him.

Geiszler yawns and stretches, causing Hermann’s eyes to widen when the action reveals colorful tattoos – and…is that some sort of _lace_ covering the man’s torso? -- to peek out from beneath the silk.

Hermann cannot bring himself to speak, cannot even avert his eyes from Geiszler’s decadent attire. His face burns hot from the encounter and he wonders if he should leave now. Just leave, pretend that he’d never been given this address. But God, he needs the money…

“Who are you?” Geiszler says in an accent that is unexpectedly American.

Hermann manages to clear his throat, although the sight of Geiszler leaning against the door makes the task difficult. “The agency said you needed a-”

“Oh, you’re here already? That was quick.” Geiszler seems to wake up a bit now that he knows why Hermann is at his door. “I wasn’t expecting you until the afternoon, actually, but this works too.”

Hermann knows it’s impertinent to do so, but he cannot help but raise an eyebrow. “It _is_ the afternoon. It’s two o’clock, sir.”

Geiszler’s eyes widen comically. “Oh _shit,_ ” he breathes.

Before Hermann can even be startled by the profanity, Geiszler has already dashed back into the flat, his robe flapping behind him. Hermann looks longingly towards the elevator, but enters in after his new employer.

He’s confronted by a frankly horrendous mess which scars the expanse of the spacious flat: bottles, clothing, pillows, ash trays, and God knows what else litter the marble floor. Hermann can glimpse the kitchen from where he stands and his lip curls at the sink full of filthy dishes, the disorganized clutter.

Bombarded with so many sights and with the sound of Geiszler hastily picking things up, Hermann is frozen in the midst of the action. Internally he seethes. He has to fight to contain himself, to keep from screaming at this ridiculous man. The agency stressed that this is his last chance, he _can’t_ fire his mouth off again-

But to raise a child in these conditions?  It sends bile to the back of Hermann’s throat. “Are they upstairs then?” he asks stiffly.

“Hmm?” Geiszler only spares Hermann a glance as he tries to stuff more rubbish into the overflowing bin. “Oh- yeah, you’re right, I can’t believe I forgot. Could you go wake him up, actually? That would be great.”

Geiszler’s child is _still_ in bed then? At this hour? It looks like Hermann has more work to do here than he’d anticipated. He shakes his head and ascends the stairs, secretly relieved to be leaving the company of the excessively kinetic and sparingly clothed Geiszler.

He finds the bedroom and opens the doors, calling, “Time to get up! Up and at them, we cannot waste away what remains of the day.”

Hermann hears mumbled curses from the bed and sighs. Ripping off the covers, he says, “Oh, come now-”

The words dry up in his throat when he’s faced with the man – a _man,_ not a child, certainly not someone Hermann would be tutoring. And not just a man--a _naked_ man. A man wearing no clothes. A naked man who eyes Hermann’s gaping mouth with a grin before he says:

“I’d love to, if you don’t mind helping me out.”

“What?” Hermann chokes.

The man yawns. “Or whatever floats your boat, brother. You know, Newt didn’t tell me he was bringing someone else in – definitely not someone this cute either.”

“I…” _Cute?_ Hermann glances down at his tattered trousers, his worn and only blazer, his- everything, really. No one has ever called him cute before, and certainly never a _man,_ certainly never a man with so much skin on display-

Hermann might be staring.

Thankfully Geiszler – Newt? – decides to run into the room at that moment, saving Hermann from having to formulate a response.

“Tendo,” Geiszler groans. “You have to leave. He’s here to help me out, not for you to play with.”

“You say that like it’s either or,” Tendo says, but obligingly covers himself with the sheet. “Wait a minute – is this the social secretary guy?”

“Research assistant,” Geiszler corrects.

“Whatever you have to tell D’Onofrio…”

“At least D’Onofrio isn’t taking up space in my bed, man. And he’s going to be back from the war office soon, so I really need you to get _out_ of bed-”

Hermann’s head is spinning and his leg is already beginning to ache even though his work has scarcely begun. He needs to sit down, but the only place to do so would be on the bed with this Tendo fellow and- that is just not something Hermann is ready to do right now.

 _Social secretary? Research assistant?_ Vague, bitter insult clogs the back of his throat. He may only be a tutor at the moment, but he’s got a Ph.D. for God’s sake, he’s nobody’s secretary or assistant!

“I think there’s been some sort of mistake,” he says, interrupting whatever sort of- _lover’s tiff_ Geiszler and Tendo are having.

Geiszler freezes and looks at him in horror. “Wait, dude, no-”

“I am not a ‘dude,’” Hermann sniffs. “I am not a social secretary, I am not a research assistant, and I am not here to participate in whatever _this_ is.” He gestures to Geiszler’s robe, to Tendo’s naked torso.

“Are you serious?” Geiszler squeaks, indignant but for the note of panic flickering in his eyes. “I thought you guys at the agency were supposed to be _discreet,_ not-”

“It’s not that,” Hermann says quickly. “I am not in the habit of airing out secrets. But, if you don’t mind me saying so, you are a mess, Mr. Geiszler, and in need of services I cannot provide for you. Good day.”

“Asshole,” Geiszler mutters.

Hermann huffs, about to walk away, but then a car honks outside and Geiszler squeaks again, grabbing his arm.

“Wait,” he says, glancing between Hermann and the parking lot a few stories down. “Okay, I know I’m a mess right now, but this really isn’t typical for me-”

Hermann snorts.

“Okay, it kind of _is,_ but that’s exactly why I need you,” Geiszler pleads. “Just stay for one day, please? I don’t have time to hire someone else until then.”

Damn it all. Hermann has seen the look in Geiszler’s eyes before: in the eyes of students as they realized just how clueless they are about the subject matter, how little power they have to set their course-

And that’s what Hermann is there for: to give them that power. He may not be likeable and he may not even be very professional, but he is _good_ at his job. “Very well,” he says, stiffening when Newt takes that as his cue to throw his arms around him.

“Thank you,” Geiszler says, once he releases him from the hug.

Hermann is somewhat taken aback by the brilliance of Geiszler’s smile and has to clear his throat several times before he can speak. “Yes, well…come along, let’s get to it, Mr. Geiszler.”

“Call me Newt,” Newt says, wrinkling his nose. “Geiszler makes it sound like you’re my dissertation advisor.”   

“Better that than your research assistant,” Hermann mutters. “Very well, Newt, continue cleaning up downstairs. Put on some decent clothes if you can manage it. That is _not_ optional for you,” Hermann says, nodding at Tendo.

Rather than watch Tendo get dressed, Hermann helps Newt with the cleaning. He winces at just how much rubbish they shove underneath the carpet, how many martini glasses he dumps in the sink. He mournfully watches the soggy olives go down the drain. God, how long has it been since he’s eaten-

“Newt, where’s my shirt!”

“Oh, for the love of-” Hermann sighs, throwing down an olive and marching into the living room. He grabs a shirt off a lamp and shoves it at Tendo. At least _he’d_ deigned to put clothes on, unlike Newt, who’s still running around in a robe and probably _panties._ ‘Probably’ because Hermann does not have the nerve to examine Newt’s body any more than he already has.

“Thanks, doll,” Tendo says, winking at Hermann before kissing Newt on the cheek. “You’re at the club tonight, right?”

“Working. I’ll be singing up a storm,” Newt murmurs against Tendo’s neck. “Dominating the stage like always,” Newt kisses Tendo’s neck lightly, in a motion that is far too intimate for Hermann to bear witnessing.

Hermann loudly clears his throat.

Newt sighs. “He’s right, you’ve got to go. Give my regards to your wife, I’ll see you later.”

Hermann doesn’t have time to give more than a fleeting thought to the word _wife_ which is so freely uttered between the two. He breathes a sigh of relief at the sudden quiet, but only a moment later it’s interrupted by another man walking into the flat.

“Sergio,” Newt greets before he gives the stocky, older fellow a lingering kiss.

Hermann’s chest feels odd. In the past ten minutes he’s known Newt, the man has been continually showering others with affection. His touches and kisses are given so freely and easily that it’s almost startling.

“Was that Tendo I saw in the elevator?” Sergio says. He’s built like an athlete, with his large arms wrapped around Newt and his chest easily filling out his fine suit.

“Uhh…maybe-”

Sergio rolls his eyes. “I know we both like to play around, Newt, but you’re so _obvious_ about-” It’s then that he notices Hermann. “Er…is this another one then?”

Hermann shoots Newt a look that hopefully conveys his skepticism at the words _another one_ and Newt, judging by his scowl, understands the message perfectly.

“I told you, I only fool around with Tendo,” Newt sighs. He turns to Hermann. “This is Lieutenant Sergio D’Onofrio. Serge, this is the research assistant I was telling you I needed, Mr., uh…”

“ _Dr._ Hermann Gottlieb,” Hermann corrects snapping a quick salute to the Lieutenant.  

D’Onofrio raises an eyebrow. “Bit overqualified,” he murmurs.

 _Aren’t I aware,_ Hermann thinks wryly.

“I thought you told me you were getting a- what is it called?” D’Onofrio says.

“A social secretary,” Newt sighs, like a man who has had this conversation multiple times. “You know I can’t _get_ an actual research assistant.”

“So a social secretary is the next best thing?” Sergio asks skeptically. “I know he has a Ph.D., but is a social secretary even qualified enough to help you? Newt, if you’d just drop Lightcap’s name at the university, I’m sure they could get you what you need.”

“I…” The words which usually seem to overflow from Newt’s mouth have dried up.

Without thinking about it, Hermann steps forward. “Newt, don’t you have that appointment to be getting to?”

“Appointment?” Newt asks, before he catches Hermann’s eye. “O-oh yeah. Listen, Sergio, maybe we can talk about this later-”

Sergio shrugs. “I know the drill, darling. You’re busy, I’m busy.” Despite the flippancy of his tone, the kiss he presses to Newt’s forehead is tender and sweet.

It’s long after D’Onofrio retreats upstairs, long after Newt has stood silently staring at the stairs, that Hermann tries again: “Your appointment?”

Newt nods. “Yeah, that’s soon, isn’t it?”

“You seemed to indicate as much,” Hermann says, oddly reluctant to force Newt to move. More than a bit awkwardly, he ventures, “He seems…”

“Nice?” Newt says. “That’s what everyone says.”

“A bit young, I was going to say. To be a lieutenant.”

Newt shrugs. “He enlisted in the Great War when he was underage, it was technically illegal. Not that anyone cared at the time.”

Hermann nods. “An admirable thing to do. Though…” Hermann hesitates, but goes ahead anyway: “You don’t seem very happy with him.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” Newt snorts. “Since you know so much about me.”

“An indelicate thing to say, I’m aware, but since I’m apparently your social secretary now, perhaps that qualifies me to pass such a judgment,” Hermann says dryly.

Newt laughs, brightening as he hasn’t since D’Onofrio left. “I don’t know what I imagined when I pictured what a social secretary would be like, but it definitely was _not_ you.”

“My apologies,” Hermann says stiffly. Oh God, is this it, is he about to be fired from a job he’d never even meant to take-

Newt shakes his head. “No, man, keep doing your thing. I’m tired of people walking on eggshells around me.”

“Including D’Onofrio?” Hermann ventures.

“D’Onofrio’s a nice guy,” Newt says with a shrug. “We’re just too busy for each other – he’s at the war office daily now that the shit’s about to hit the fan and I’m… _trying_ to write a dissertation. But he lets me live here, he takes care of me, he’s nice to me. If he loved me, he’d probably be the perfect guy.”

Hermann doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know what comfort to offer, or even if comfort is what’s wanted from him. Hermann has known unrequited love before, but he’s not even sure if that’s what this is. He’s seen Newt with Tendo, with D’Onofrio, and wonders if it’s simpler than that: just a man who gives so much love to people who can’t return it in the way he expects.

There’s no way for Hermann to ask this without crossing even more boundaries than he already has, so he only follows Newt upstairs and helps him get dressed for the day.

 

Dressed in woolen trousers and a dress shirt, absently bickering with Hermann as he sloppily does his tie, Newt seems far more prepared to face the world than he did an hour ago.

Far more prepared than Hermann is, at any rate. He eyes with trepidation how the tree branches sway in the bitter wind, shivering at the mere thought of going outside again.

“Here,” Newt says, tossing a scarf at him. “You look like you’re about to freeze _indoors_ , Hermann, you might catch your death if you go out without this.”

Hermann turns the scarf over in his hands. It’s silky, just as pale as Newt’s robe, but it’s colored blue instead of cream. The fabric flows like water through Hermann’s hands, slipping through his fingertips in a shock of blue. He presses it to his cheek, closing his eyes at its softness before he wraps it around his neck. Despite the thinness of the material, he is already warmer.

“Thank you,” Hermann beams. He’s never been concerned with appearances – not with his father, not with his income – but the sight of himself in the mirror, the sight of that lovely wisp of blue around his neck is rather nice.

He catches Newt staring at him with a small smile.  Newt blushes once caught, the red flush standing out starkly against his freckles. Hermann is momentarily breathless.

“It suits you,” Newt says with a shrug.

It does – once they are outside, Hermann cannot pass a shop window without smiling at his own reflection.

Along the way, Newt tells Hermann about the research he wants to conduct. It turns out that he’s a _biologist,_ so God knows why he’s content with someone like Hermann for an assistant, but Newt lights up as soon as he fully realizes that Hermann is university educated – even if his degree is in mathematics.

Soon Hermann is poking holes in Newt’s theories and Newt is yelling at him about a new kind of electron microscope.  Hermann finds himself grinning the entire time, his heart thrumming from the exertion of their debate.

It’s so unlike any interaction Hermann’s had with the students he teaches. With them, he must be slow and mindful as he speaks, but with Newt, his words are free to spill out uninhibited.  He’s not censored by age, experience, or even professionalism. It’s beyond freeing, and Hermann matches both Newt’s walking pace and his wit measure for measure as they approach their destination.

This is before Hermann realizes where Newt’s appointment _is._ Because they don’t walk into a doctor’s office or a shop or anything sophisticated like that – they walk into a _runway,_ a room full of patrons munching finger sandwiches and carefully eyeing the wares being modeled by petite figures who strut down a catwalk.

The ballroom simply oozes decadence: from its dazzling, intricate chandeliers to how casually the patrons wear their rich, beautiful fabrics. Hermann must assuredly does _not_ belong here.

“Newt,” he hisses. “This is a-a _lingerie_ show! We’re _men_ – we cannot be here!”

Newt stops by the refreshments table only long enough to pick up a finger sandwich and toss it at Hermann. Hermann tries not to scarf it down immediately, but his success is probably mixed if the stares of those around him are any indication. Hermann pulls anxiously at his scarf, painfully aware that it’s the only garment he has that deserves to be worn in such a place.

“There are plenty of men here,” Newt points out. “It’s fine. People come here to buy underwear for their wives or whatever.”

 _But_ you _don’t have a wife-_ Hermann thinks. Then he remembers the glimpse of lace he caught Newt wearing.  He wonders how many of these people are here for their wives after all.

Hermann is the son of a clergyman for God’s sake. This world that Newt is dragging him into – one of sensuality, decadence, _lingerie showings_ – is not one Hermann could have ever prepared himself for.

And yet…Hermann finds himself smiling as he and Newt watch the show, even laughing in shock as Newt whispers scandalous secrets about the different designers. He even grabs Hermann a few more finger sandwiches once he notices just how hungry he is.

The man is oddly…charming. When he’s not frantically cleaning up in his underwear, that is.

“Is that _Tendo_?” Hermann asks, gesturing to the man announcing the various designs.

Newt nods. “He’s a designer here.”

Tendo’s commentary is laced with as much snark as Newt’s private commentary to Hermann had been – Hermann can see why they get along so well. Well, aside from the obvious reasons.

Hermann frowns, chest feeling strangely hollow for some reason. The sinking feeling only worsens when Tendo greets them after the show, even though the other man is polite as can be.

“You brought your new man along!” Tendo says, patting Hermann’s shoulder. “Wow, did you give him your scarf? You must like this one.”

An upset stomach, churning hot and fast, now accompanies Hermann’s hollow chest. He quickly stands to avoid any more teasing comments that Tendo might issue. “Excuse me,” he says faintly, deciding to go to the refreshment table to get more food and take a break from- whatever _that_ was.

Hermann sighs and stares at the finger sandwiches as if _they_ can tell him what he’s gotten himself into.

“That’s a lovely scarf.”

Hermann starts, finding that an enormous man in military blues has joined him. He nods hurriedly.

“Yes, sir,” he says. “Isn’t it lovely? It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever worn.”

The man smiles thinly. “Eloquent words of flattery, Mr…?”

“Dr. Hermann Gottlieb,” Hermann says. He blinks in surprise when the other man holds out a hand for him to shake, but gratefully accepts the gesture of respect. “And you are…?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “You mean you actually don’t know?”

“Er…no?”

Once again, the man smiles, but this time its sincerity shines brighter than any one of the enchanting chandeliers in the ballroom. “Stacker Pentecost. Before I enlisted, I was a designer. I made the scarf you’re wearing.”

“O-oh!” Hermann says. “My apologies, sir, I truly did not know-”

“At ease, Doctor,” Pentecost says. “It’s not often I receive such a genuine compliment and I’m thankful for yours. If you don’t already have a table, you’re welcome to sit with my own party.” He gestures to a table where two ginger-haired men and a young, black-haired woman talk amongst themselves.

“I would be honored,” Hermann begins, but then, remembering his duties, shakes his head. “But I’m here with my employer at the moment.”

“Who would that be?”

“Newton Geiszler, an American. I’m to be his social secretary or his research assistant or- something of that sort.” Hermann still hasn’t quite worked out the details of his employment yet: other than the fact that his duties apparently include shooing out overslept lovers and accompanying his employer to lingerie shows.

He’d wager that even Pentecost is more in the know than he is, for the other man lets out a huff of laughter at Hermann’s words.

“I’d say that you’ll be more than a good fit for Newt, Dr. Geiszler. Although…” Pentecost’s eyes dim and his lips tighten as he looks away from Hermann. “I think it would be best if you returned to your employer soon.”

Hermann glances over at Newt’s table. Another man looms over Newt as the latter sits stiffly in his seat, talking at an angry, rapid pace at the sneering man. Tendo stands between them, trying in vain to keep their voices down and the confrontation unnoticed by the crowd at large.

“Who’s that?” Hermann asks.

“Newt’s former dissertation advisor,” Pentecost says. “And, speaking privately, a cruel and deliberately mistrustful man.” The weight of Pentecost’s icy words hold more insult than if he’d cursed the man’s name outright.

When Pentecost turns back to Hermann, none of the ice remains: only distant warmth and that small smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Gottlieb. I hope your employment under Dr. Geiszler suits you both.”

Hermann nods distantly, unable to truly hear Pentecost’s words. A worried buzz fills his ears when he sees Newt deflate where he sits after his advisor walks away. Even having known Newt for less than a day, he knows this isn’t typical.

Hermann cautiously joins the aftermath of the scene. He wants to place a hand on Newt’s shoulder in comfort, but reminds himself that he is still an employee – there must be _some_ professional boundaries to maintain. “Newt?” he says hesitantly.

Newt startles. He clears his throat before abruptly standing. “Tendo, let’s go to your shop. Hermann needs new clothes,” he says distantly, walking towards the exit and leaving them no choice but to follow.

Hermann cannot get a word out of Newt that’s not related to Tendo’s designs and it’s not long before he stops trying. After all, he has no business prying into Newt’s personal matters. It’s not as if Hermann could be of any help anyway, even if he knew what was going on. Hermann isn’t a dissertation advisor anymore, he doesn’t hold any power in this situation.

Tendo seems to know better than to ask. The only indication he gives that anything is amiss is the occasional, routine touch to Newt’s arm whenever the other man’s gestures threaten to hit pedestrians.

The luxurious designs within Tendo’s shop cannot stop the sickening churn of his stomach. The clothes _are_ beautiful of course: rich fabrics, gold thread, tweed, silk, and innumerable other textures all woven into fabrics so fine that Hermann cannot help but feel self-conscious in one of the few, tattered outfits he owns. But Newt…

“This isn’t necessary, Newt,” Hermann says. “If you wish, we can go back home and you can tell me more about your research-”

“Tendo, grab Hermann one of those suits,” Newt says, pointing to a mannequin in the corner. “The blue one would look nice, don’t you think?”

Hermann huffs. “Newt, I- this is highly inappropriate, you should not have to buy me new clothes-”

His breath catches when his eyes land upon a mannequin at the opposite end of the shop. It displays a gown that Hermann can only imagine being worn at a ball in a fantasy story. The cloth is a rich, deep blue that reminds Hermann of the mountain streams of his childhood.  Thick swaths of fabric weave themselves into an elegant neckline that’s enchanting in both its severity and its beauty. Despite the obvious extravagance, the long sleeves and thick fabric promise a warmth Hermann has not known for some time in his worn clothes.

“Actually, Tendo, get him the dress instead,” Newt says.

Hermann whips around to find Newt eyeing him carefully. Every bit of laser-focus Newt had exhibited during their discussion of his research is now being applied to Hermann. For some reason, this sends an embarrassed heat to Hermann’s ears – his blushing isn’t helped by the tantalizing sight of that beautiful dress either.

“I can’t wear this!” Hermann says. It’s ludicrous to even _think_ of wearing it, let alone entertain the notion as something feasible!

“Why not?”

“Newt-” Tendo tries to interject.

“ _Why_? Because it is a _dress_!” Hermann hisses. “I cannot walk home in a dress!”

“We’ll take a cab,” Newt says easily. “I’ll make sure you’re safe. Come on, you know you want to. Tendo, help me out here? I need to lie down, I’ll use one of your empty dressing rooms if you don’t mind.”

Hermann groans, but can’t work in another argument before the Newt leaves the two of them alone.

“Forgive him,” Tendo sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. “He’s having a rough day. I can get you the suit, it’s not a problem.”

“Oh, let’s get this over with.”

As Tendo goes to fetch one of his attendants, Hermann catches sight of the dress again. Longing curls tight and hopeful in his chest, expanding until-

“Er, Tendo,” he says. “Perhaps I will try the dress as well, if that is alright. For Newt’s sake.” He wonders if it’s possible to sink into the floor in embarrassment and shame.

Tendo smiles at him. “Of course.”

The fitting is…awkward, to say the least. Hermann doesn’t know how to want this, how to ease his arms into silky sleeves without guilt mixing in with the wonder occupying his mind.

Tendo’s presence helps; he jokes with Hermann as he adjusts the measurements, tells him stories as he helps Hermann into the dress. It soon ends, however, and Tendo says, “You know, you’re going to have to look in the mirror _someday._ ”

The guilt flitting at the corner of his mind now occupies every cell of his body. Hermann takes a deep breath, stands up as straight as he can, and braves a quick look in the mirror.

Embarrassingly enough, he actually _gasps._ He’s sure he’ll feel embarrassed about it later, but for now…

“It’s beautiful,” Hermann breathes.

And what’s more, _Hermann_ is beautiful. Hermann is painfully aware of how tightly his skin rests upon his bones, but the volume of this dress gives him shape, makes it look like perhaps he’s had more than finger sandwiches to eat over the past few days. The deep color stands out in bold contrast with his creamy skin, its severe cuts accentuate the sharp lines of Hermann’s face. He’s no model, certainly, but he finds that he…he rather likes this image of himself.

“Newt was right,” Tendo chuckles. “You’re just in _love_ with that thing. Damn, and here I’d been wondering if you two would work together.”

“Really?” Hermann says, though when he thinks back to his first meeting with the strange, harried man who ran around his flat in nothing but a robe and some lingerie – yes, he can admit he’s wondered the same thing.

“The way you two were arguing? I was ready to bet that you’d quit before you two even got to my show.”

“I’d certainly wanted to at the time,” Hermann admits. “But I suppose he seemed like he needed someone…thankfully he’s not _actually_ as insufferable as all that – well, not most of the time.”

Hermann smiles thinking about the energetic discussion they’d had on the way to the show – an energy that was sadly strained on the way to Tendo’s shop. “It is entirely unprofessional of me,” Hermann says, “to ask you what occurred at the show, but-”

“But despite your apparent professionalism,” Tendo interrupts, “you are as much as a gossip hound as the rest of us – and you’re worried about the guy.”

“I am. What happened? Arguing with a dissertation advisor is never a walk in the park, but this seemed something else altogether.”

Tendo raises an eyebrow, but thankfully doesn’t inquire into Hermann’s implied history with academia. “Yeah, it was less of an argument and more of a falling out. The guy’s awful, doesn’t even want to be seen with Newt on university grounds anymore. Newt meant to meet him at the show to try to explain his situation to him. Long story short: Newt’s fellowship is still dead in the water, and the bastard basically told Newt to fuck off and stop bothering him about it.”

Hermann’s hands clench around the fabric of his skirt. The words _cruel and deliberately mistrustful_ come to his mind now that their ice has new context.

“He’s his _advisor_ ,” Hermann says. “Surely the man feels _some_ obligation to make a case for Newt?”

“He’d need a conscience for that,” Tendo snorts. “No, he’s sick of dealing with Newt: says that Newt’s too hard to work with and that helping him would ‘suck up what precious little free time he has left.’”

“That must be why he wants a research assistant so badly,” Hermann realizes. “To help him where his advisor couldn’t.”

Tendo is silent for a moment. Clipboard in hand, he finishes scribbling down Hermann’s receipt before sighing. “That part _would_ be bad of me to disclose. You’d need to ask Newt for more details.”

“I’ve known him for a day,” Hermann points out. “What makes you think he’d appreciate my asking?”

Tendo jabs him in the side with the butt of his pen. It’s an action so freely and comfortably given despite the short length of their acquaintance that Hermann cannot help but gape.

“He _likes_ you,” Tendo says.

“He likes everyone.” Hermann remembers the kisses so tenderly given to both Tendo and D’Onofrio.

“No, he doesn’t, and not everyone likes him either. Case in point: bastard advisor. Newt doesn’t just automatically get on with other people. And no offense, my man, but I have a feeling that you don’t either.”

Hermann doesn’t need to be reminded – he’s already dangerously close to being fired for acting dreadfully brash towards his clients. Even back home, he’d never had any ease making friends. His startling debates with Newt were the first jolts of affection he’d received from anyone in some time.

As if on cue, Newt’s voice echoes through the hallway, approaching their fitting room.

“Do _you_ like him?” Hermann asks.

Tendo gives Hermann a careful glance. “I do,” he says. “I even love the guy – but not in the way that he wants. And he doesn’t love me like that either, even if he wishes he did.”

Before Hermann can unravel Tendo’s words or the confusing rush of relief he feels upon hearing them, Newt walks into the room.

“You look _gorgeous,_ ” Newt exhales, looking to Hermann for permission before stroking the thick fabric of Hermann’s skirt.

Tendo eyes them with an undecipherable look before giving Newt the receipt and Hermann a parting pat on the arm, leaving them alone to admire the dress together.

With a large hat purchased and a discreet cab service called, Hermann is even able to wear the dress right out of the shop, all the way to Newt’s – or, rather, D’Onofrio’s – flat.

“Is he here?” Hermann asks.

“Nah, he’d be at the office by now. Or maybe Lightcap’s.” Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thought, Newt sends Hermann a dazzling smile and says, “Come on; now it’s time to get _me_ dressed up and gorgeous, Herms. We’ve got a party to get ready for.”

Hermann blinks. “Party?” he echoes.

Newt grins and takes Hermann’s hand, leading him up the stairs.

 

“Why the party?” Hermann asks once Newt is settled into his bath. The suds cover most of the other man’s body, but Hermann still has to stop himself from staring at how the foamy film of water drips from Newt’s hair and covers his colorful arms.

“Why not?” Newt says, smoothing more soap over himself. “Hey, you can leave now if you want, but if you’re going to stay, can you help me get my back? D’Onofrio always thinks I miss a spot, which I _don’t_ , but…”

Hermann wonders if this is a normal thing to ask of a social secretary. It’s certainly not a normal thing to ask of a research assistant, but Hermann has lost track of what he is to Newt anymore. Perhaps that’s what compels him to take the bar of soap from Newt’s hands. Before he can think twice about what the hell he’s doing, Hermann moves his chair so that he can carefully rub the foam into Newt’s back.

Newt hums into the contact, murmuring a quick “thank you” as Hermann diligently lathers the soap. For perhaps the first time today, there is no frantic energy in the air, no sounds of chatter or music. There is simply Hermann and Newt, soaking in the quiet of the bathroom.

“The party was going to celebrate the university renewing my fellowship,” Newt says finally.

“But they didn’t do that,” Hermann says. His fingers – wrinkled by now, but still curiously unwilling to leave Newt’s skin – still against Newt’s back. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh fuck ‘em,” Newt says. He splashes the water, snickering at Hermann’s indignant huff as a few stray drops land on him.  “I’ll have a party anyway, they can’t stop me.”

“God help anyone who thinks they can stop you from doing anything,” Hermann says lightly, smiling this time when Newt flicks water on him. “There are other universities…” he ventures.

Newt snorts. “Not when you’re me.” For a moment, only the sounds of foaming soap and wet heat fill the air again until- “Oh, who am I kidding, I was always going to tell you. You bet your ass I’m going to try other universities, but- universities don’t _like_ me, Hermann. I _try_ , I do, but they just don’t give a shit about me.”

“You’re certainly intelligent enough,” Hermann says, recalling the detail with which Newt recounted his research efforts. “I’ve known some daft individuals who went on to get Ph.D.s, and I don’t exaggerate when I say that you outstrip a good number of them in brain capacity.”

“Intelligence isn’t the problem. I can’t do the work. I mean, most of the time, I can, but-” Newt runs his soapy hands through his hair in frustration “-I can’t explain it. Some days it’s like there’s this lead weight in my chest and over times it’s like a gaping hole- and when you want to do experiments like mine, you can’t just skip out on a sixteen-hour day of bending over a microscope if that feels like too much for you.”

Hermann rubs soothing circles into Newt’s back and the other man sighs gratefully.

“I’m fine with myself, Hermann,” Newt says, wearily slapping the water once more. “It’s them who have the problem. I could still do it, if they would just give me more time, but they don’t care. I thought maybe if I could keep my fellowship and get a research assistant to help me with the more time-sensitive experiments…but whatever, fuck them. I’ll find another university, I’ll go to America if I have to.”

Newt turns and Hermann is relieved to find that even though Newt’s eyes are rimmed with red, he’s still managing a smile.

“That’s why I hired you, you know,” Newt says. “They wouldn’t give me any sort of assistant or help so I thought, hey, a social secretary or whatever could probably do the job just as well! Except, well, you have your Ph.D., so it actually turned out even better than I thought it would. Even if your degree is in math.”

“Maths,” Hermann corrects, purely to see the resulting roll of Newt’s eyes. “You…you do know I’m not actually a social secretary, don’t you?”

Newt smirks. “Yeah, I kind of figured that one out. No offense, Hermann, but you’re not quite ‘social’ enough to be a social secretary.”

“I’m aware,” Hermann says dryly. “My agency handles a multitude of services, including tutoring – which is what I do – and social organization. I hypothesize that they mixed up the addresses this morning and sent me to the wrong one.”

“And you went along with it? Hermann, I answered the door in my _underwear._ My _lacy,_ revealing-”

“I get the point,” Hermann says quickly. The tips of his fingers are still pressed into Newt’s shoulders. He rinses the remaining soap from Newt’s back so that he can retreat to a safer distance. “But I, ah- I needed the money rather badly.” _And you seemed like you needed someone too._

Newt looks at Hermann for a moment. “Can I ask you a question?” he says, finally.

Hermann nods. After listening to Newt’s confession, Hermann cannot think of denying him the same honesty.

“Why are you tutoring in the first place? From what you’ve told me, you’re kind of a genius – and that’s coming from a genius, so I’m not flattering you or anything. Shouldn’t you be at a university or something?”

“I used to be,” Hermann says, absently drying his hands on a towel. “When I lived in Germany, I received an assistant professorship shortly after getting my degree. I was on a tenure track, I had a good rapport with my students, my research seemed important--groundbreaking…”

He smiles wistfully as he thinks of that year – that beautiful, _brilliant_ year in academia, all of the challenge and stimulation which he’d wanted so desperately – and then sighs. “But my sort isn’t wanted in academia these days.”

“Your sort…?”

Hermann waves his hand. “Take your pick. My last name, my cane, my…” He swallows heavily, looks away from Newt sitting in the tub. “Any number of things. I wasn’t wanted there. I left the country hoping to find work elsewhere-”

“Thank God you did,” Newt murmurs, more somber now than when he’d been recounting his own history. He doesn’t hesitate in reaching out and wrapping his hand around Hermann’s, something for which Hermann is grateful.

“Indeed,” Hermann says, smiling weakly. “England is better, but finding work remains difficult. Being a tutor pays the bills.” _Some of them anyway,_ he thinks as his stomach gives forth another pang of hunger.

“I get that helping me out is a bit below your pay grade,” Newt says. “So, uh, thanks, Hermann.” He rubs his thumb gently across Hermann’s knuckles before taking his hand away and grabbing a towel.

Hermann looks away as Newt steps out of the tub. He touches his knuckles with trembling fingers, his heart catching in his throat at the wet drops of water, the lingering warmth Newt’s hand left on his own. He shakes his head, pushing those feelings down.

“Well, I needed a holiday,” he says loudly, standing in the doorway. “And while helping you shop for lingerie and put a party together wasn’t _exactly_ what I’d had in mind, in truth, I cannot think of anything else I’d rather be doing.”

With his back turned, Hermann hears, rather than sees, Newt’s grin.

“I should’ve known your uptight grumpiness was just a façade – it’s all to hide how sentimental you are, isn’t it?” Newt says.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hermann says. He shuts the bathroom door behind him and sits on the bed, wondering exactly how he’d gotten to this point.

 

The party is – by God, is it _something_. Inventive drinks, decadent clothes and even more decadent food, people crowding the flat from wall to wall -- Hermann has never attended such a splendor and can hardly stop himself from gaping at the proceedings as the night goes on. His mouth waters just looking at the refreshment table, but he’s too busy following Newt around to eat nearly as much as he’d like.

Newt seems…happy. Or Hermann hopes that he’s happy. The party’s intended purpose has been tainted by the unexpected cruelty of Newt’s advisor, but Newt still throws himself into the gathering with good spirits, drinking and dancing and laughing with the hoard.

In truth, the whole thing exhausts Hermann. He’s been on his feet for the better part of the day and would love nothing more than to sit down. Yet he gains so much satisfaction from having Newt introduce him – _“My friend and research associate Dr. Hermann Gottlieb”_ and _God,_ Hermann hasn’t been referred to by a proper title in so long – that he stays standing for longer than is advisable.

Just as he starts to sway, innumerable introductions and a few deliciously sweet martinis later, a gentle hand clasps his elbow.

“Would you like to sit down, Dr. Gottlieb?” Pentecost says from his new place at Hermann’s side.

All of Newt’s attention instantly shifts to Hermann. He must notice how heavily Hermann leans on his cane, for within seconds guilt mars the smile he’d worn only seconds ago. “Hermann, are you okay? Oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were getting tired-”

“And I never told you,” Hermann reminds Newt. “No need to fret, a few moments of rest will do me marvelously. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Hermann and Pentecost take a seat in the alcove of the flat. Pentecost chuckles at how unwilling Newt is to leave their portion of the room, how reluctantly his eyes leave Hermann.

“I take it I was correct in my assessment of your match,” Pentecost says.

Hermann attempts a scoff, but the resulting expression of skepticism is half-hearted at best. “It’s an employment,” he reminds Pentecost, “not a match. A comfortable employment, to be sure.  Something that ensures I don’t have to live in the train station, but…” He cannot speak the rest, can only watch as Newt laughs at something D’Onofrio has said.

Pentecost frowns. He seems prepared to refute Hermann, but before he can say a word, great bomb sirens echo throughout the streets, leaking through the windows into the flat and relentlessly hammering Hermann’s ears with every repetition they make. He shoves his head between his knees, screwing his eyes shut and trying to focus on the sounds of the party.

“Dr. Gottlieb?” Pentecost says. His voice is even and smooth but for the slight tension that is also runs through Hermann. “They’re just test sirens, I promise you. You’re safe right now.”

“I-I know,” Hermann says. Talking is difficult; his chest feels tight. “I just- I haven’t heard sirens like that since I was a boy. I thought I’d never have to hear them again.”

“I thought the same,” Pentecost says. “And I’d dearly wished my daughter would never have to hear them.”

“Your daughter? Was she the one at the lingerie showing?” The new line of conversation helps Hermann to breathe easier – Pentecost seems to sense as much, because he offers more information than Hermann thinks he otherwise would.

“Yes, her and my partner Herc’s son came with us to celebrate my new line,” Pentecost says, and then adds, “They’re thinking about going to university, our kids. They could use a tutor to get them ready.”

Hermann smiles into his knees. The sirens have quieted and the sounds of the party overtake the flat once more. “If Newt allows me to moonlight, I would be happy to apply for such a position.”

“Hermann!” a voice calls.

Hermann still cannot bring himself to look up, but he would know that scratchy voice anywhere by now. “I’m fine,” he mumbles as Newt’s footsteps come closer to where he is sitting. “Simply, ah, startled by the sirens.”

Thankfully, Newt doesn’t ask how being startled results in one putting their head between their knees. Pentecost excuses himself to go check on his daughter and soon, Newt and Hermann are alone again.

“Is there anything you need?” Newt says softly.

The whispered words are like a balm to Hermann’s ears.  He sighs. “My--my mother used to put her hand in my hair when I was a boy and the sirens went off. But you don’t have to-”

Newt immediately has his fingers twined in Hermann’s hair. He pulls gently at the strands, and rubs soothing circles into Hermann’s scalp. The touch is tender, safe, and Hermann’s breathing is finally allowed to slow.

“Like this?” Newt says.

Hermann hums an affirmative. He’s not sure how long they sit, Newt’s fingers tracing lines in Hermann’s hair, his palm rubbing deliciously against the shorter fuzz at the base of his head. All Hermann knows is that it’s long enough for the ringing in his ears to fade and for his breathing to match the slow, easy pace of Newt’s own breaths. Long enough for the current song of the piano to die out and for several others to finish playing.

“I love this song,” Hermann murmurs as another song plays.

“Want to dance to it?”

“What?” Hermann starts, finally lifting his head. He immediately regrets the motion once he realizes that it forces Newt’s fingers to leave their careful work.

Newt shrugs, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that Hermann cannot quite decipher. “You like the song, I like dancing, so I asked you to dance. Not that, um, you have to, of course, if you’re still tired”-

“I would love to dance,” Hermann says quickly. For once he allows himself to enjoy the happy heat that bubbles in his chest upon seeing Newt’s smile.

Hermann notices Pentecost’s eyes following them onto the dance floor, as well as Tendo’s, but Hermann ignores them for now. He thinks that, after a long day of work, he’s allowed the indulgence of simply enjoying this dance.

Though just how much of an indulgence it is remains to be seen, as it turns out that Newt is _horrible_ at dancing.

“Shut up,” Newt says when Hermann tells him as much. “I never got around to learning, alright? D’Onofrio and I don’t exactly go out dancing together.”

“And what _do_ you do together?” Hermann asks, not entirely sure what compels him to do so. Or whether he truly wants to know the answer.

“We live together, he lets me throw parties in his flat, I sing in his club when he needs me to.” Newt shrugs as if that’s all there is to it. “So, come on – where did _you_ learn to dance like this?”

The truth is that Hermann picked it up at the church get-togethers he’d been obligated to attend as a clergyman’s son. But instead, driven by some unknowable instinct, he leans forward and whispers into Newt’s ear, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

When he pulls back, he can see that Newt’s mouth has fallen open. Newt’s eyes seem torn over whether they would like to track Hermann’s gaze or his lips.

“Hermann Gottlieb,” Newt laughs. “And here I thought you were just an uptight social secretary.”

“I am neither of these things, as you well know,” Hermann says. He doesn’t know where these lines are coming from, or even if they’re particularly _good_ lines. Hermann’s the son of a clergyman – he never had the time nor the bravery to _flirt_ , especially once he began to realize where his interests lie.  He finds that he likes it. He likes the eager, barbed exchanges, likes how they’re now being punctuated by the weight and heat of Newt’s hands on his shoulders. It’s something he could get used to.

The dance is over all too soon. Much to Hermann’s own embarrassment, they are forced to bow for the applauding onlookers – Hermann suspects that Tendo initiated a good deal of the clapping.

“Newt!” D’Onofrio’s voice rings out amongst the applause. “If I’d known you could dance, I would’ve taken us out ages ago.”

Newt laughs as he herds them to where the larger man is sitting. “As talented of a dancer as I am, Serge – don’t laugh, I am! -- this one’s all on Hermann.”

D’Onofrio smiles at Hermann. “Seems like having a social secretary is doing Newt some good then. I’m glad; I have to admit I was worried when he told me his plan to hire you. By the way, Dr. Gottlieb, your dress is simply lovely.”

“Thank you,” Hermann says.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Newt says, unconsciously leaning into D’Onofrio when the other man puts an arm around him. “Picked it out myself.”

Hermann doesn’t hear whatever D’Onofrio says in response. He’s too preoccupied with the easy way that D’Onofrio presses a kiss into Newt’s hair, the way Newt’s eyes briefly close in response, as if there is nothing in the world but that touch. Hermann feels short of breath all over again, as if Newt’s hands carding through his hair, their dance, had never happened.

“Excuse me,” he says faintly, practically running to the restroom in order to escape Newt and D’Onofrio’s company. When he closes the door, he is met by a rush of silence. The faint keys of the piano and the tinkling laughter of the partygoers seem further away than they should, with only a small hallway to separating them.

Hermann grips the edge of the counter and looks at his reflection, scowling at what he sees. Bits of makeup coat his face. He thought the effect beautiful when Newt convinced him to apply it, but now, it simply looks garish.  It’s smudged from his earlier panic. A small bit of foundation stains the collar of his beautiful dress.

 _This isn’t you_ , he reminds himself, desperately angry at the figure in the mirror. _Stop trying to pretend that you’re a player in this fantasy. You’re not a social secretary or a research assistant or Newt’s or- or any of it! He is not someone you get to have._

Hermann wipes his eyes. His heart sits cold and wet in his chest as he begins to carefully rinse the makeup off his face, rubbing vigorously at the skin until his face is a ruddy, ugly red.

Hermann hears his name as he walks out of the flat.  He’s not sure if he’s imagining it or not, but he reminds himself that it doesn’t matter. It was a lovely day, but it’s time for him to return to reality.

 

Truth be told, Hermann does not have anywhere else to go. He has no home--he’s always roomed in the houses of his students so that he could be more easily accessible to them. It was a foolish decision to leave the warmth and comfort of Newt’s flat; Hermann knows this, but he also knows that he could not have stayed at that party any longer.

He soon winds up in the train station, where he’d spent his nights before being employed by his agency. He’s without his hat, so he gets a few odd glances for his attire, but at this time of night no one cares enough to harass him.

He’s not sure how long he’s sat there before someone calls his name. Hermann groans as he sees Tendo approaching.

“Shouldn’t you be at the party?” he says when Tendo sits down next to him.

“You’re an idiot,” Tendo says shortly. “What the hell? You storm out of there, make Newt worry-”

A pang of guilt echoes through Hermann’s chest. “I know it’s not the most elegant way of leaving my employment, but-”

“You’re leaving?”

Hermann huffs. This man – these people, Tendo and Pentecost and all the rest of them, they don’t even _know_ him! How can they pass such judgments on Hermann’s life?

“I’m within my rights to,” Hermann says stiffly. “Newt needs neither a social secretary nor, unfortunately, a research assistant. It would be extraneous to keep me on when he must focus on how he can continue his education.”

“He’s not worried about the money,” Tendo says.  “He’s worried about _you._ I’m not sure how it escaped your notice, but he _likes_ you.”

“He likes _you_ ,” Hermann points out. “He likes D’Onofrio. And I’m not sure if it escaped _your_ notice, but Newt has not seen it fit to extend those same affections towards me. He doesn’t need me to hang around and hope for what cannot be offered to me.”

Tendo groans. “I was wrong. You and Newt are _both_ idiots. Look, him being physical with other people doesn’t negate what he feels for you, Hermann. He may like me and D’Onofrio as friends, but-”

Hermann recalls with a sickening feeling the ease with which Newt and D’Onofrio co-existed at the party. “I’m not so certain it’s just that. And I’m not so certain there’s room for me within what they already have.”

“Did Newt ever tell you about his and D’Onofrio’s relationship?”

“He told me that D’Onofrio doesn’t love him. But Tendo, you _saw_ them together-”

“I saw you two together, dancing. _Happy._ Yeah, Newt and D’Onofrio used to have something a little more- but whatever that was died out awhile ago. D’Onofrio loves a gal named Lightcap now. The only reason he and Newt are still together is because D’Onofrio knows Newt isn’t financially independent. It’s a mess for both of them,” Tendo sighs.

“So…Newt…”

“ _Likes_ you. Yeah, he likes to play around with a lot of guys, he’s affectionate. But I’ve never seen him take to anyone like he does with you.”

“How can I be sure that will always be the case?” Hermann says. “Sure, he likes me now, but we’ve only known each other a _day,_ Tendo. He’s going to flirt with other people, he’s going to get tired of me and _want_ other people…” His eyes close in defeat. “It wouldn’t work.”

“I have known Newt for years,” Tendo says. “He’s different with you, Hermann. It’s not the same as he is with me or D’Onofrio. Do you really think that Newt wouldn’t stay faithful to you, if you had an actual conversation with him about this?”

Hermann bites his lip. It’s true: from what Hermann has seen, Newt is always honest with his lovers. D’Onofrio had known about Tendo -- Newt seemed to be trying to get him out of the flat out of politeness more than anything -- and it’s possible he even knows about Hermann. Hermann cannot imagine Newt not giving Hermann that same honesty and trust.

He’s unable to stop the flicker of hope in his chest from expanding and filling him head to toe.

“So am I meant to be his knight in shining armor then, with only my meagre tutoring fees to carry us through?”

Tendo smirks. “Whatever gets you off this bench and into his arms, brother – he’s singing at the club now. Though, for the record, I think he’d prefer a stubborn mathematician to some old knight.”

Hermann eases himself up with a sigh. “I suppose that much I can be,” he says with a small smile.

 

The club is just as opulent as everywhere else Hermann has been today, but he no longer cares to admire the expense of the carpets and the clothing here – all he can focus on is Newt.

The man in question stands on stage, singing into a microphone to a beat rapid enough to suit his nature. But Hermann can read the strain in his eyes, how tightly the other man grips the microphone as everyone dances beneath him. _You worry Newt,_ Hermann remembers Tendo saying, and his stomach twists with guilt.

It takes a few minutes, but as if drawn to him by a magnet, Newt’s eyes slowly slide over to meet Hermann’s own. Newt’s words stutter out for a moment as he stares in shock at him.

The club murmurs in confusion, but the spell only lasts for a moment before Newt looks away from Hermann and says, “Change of program.”

Newt whispers into the piano player’s ear and soon a far slower tempo plays, one sweeter and more somber than the rash beat of the song before. Most dancers return to their seats, but a few – Stacker and the older ginger man from the lingerie show included – stay on the dance floor to sway to this new tune.

It takes a long moment, but then Newt takes a deep breath, meets Hermann’s eyes -- and sings.

His voice is not what Hermann would expect of a club singer. It scratches, it cannot swing as high or low as the voices of more experienced singers. But it’s clear that his voice is something Newt has strict control over; though his words sometimes waver, every note rings clearly throughout the club.

Though it’s obvious that it isn’t the club he’s addressing right now. Newt’s eyes haven’t left Hermann’s since he started singing. Hermann isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light that makes them shine, or if they do so on Hermann’s behalf – but he swallows heavily at the sight, at the words Newt sings to him across the crowded club.

“If I didn’t care,” Newt sings, his voice low and clear. “More than words can say-”

Hermann’s throat tightens. His legs suddenly feel weak underneath him and Tendo helps him to a chair – he cannot think to do so on his own, so transfixed with Newt’s words he is.

“-if I didn’t care, would I feel this way? Would my every pray-” Newt’s voice cracks and the shining in his eyes magnifies, but he carries on “-begin and end with just your name?”

Hermann remembers the final words of the song. Clearing his throat, he murmurs them alongside Newt, hoping that the other man can see the movement of Hermann’s lips – all the accompaniment Hermann cannot muster without a microphone to aid him.

“And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare?” they both sing, tears of hope and relief doing their best to wreck their voices. Newt laughs during the final line, practically rendering it incomprehensible, but his voice rings out louder than it has all night:

“Would this be true if I didn’t care for you?”

Applause resounds throughout the club, but Hermann can only hear the echo of it as he and Newt approach each other. They meet in the center of the room.

Newt is still laughing, still beaming at Hermann, but he manages to control his mirth long enough to say, “Does this mean you…Hermann, I need you to be explicit with me. I can’t pick up on hints, I’m not good at it, I need you to _tell_ me what you want-”

“I want _you_ , Newt,” Hermann says in a rush. He presses his forehead against Newt’s own, closing his eyes in bliss for finally allowing himself that contact. “I shouldn’t have left the flat without explaining that.”

Newt touches his nose to Hermann’s and places his mouth close to Hermann’s ear. Hermann gasps at the caress of warmth that Newt breathes on his neck.

“Then maybe we should go back to the flat,” Newt whispers, “so you can explain it to me in detail.”

Hermann has never been so aware of another human being as he is right now. Newton’s chest is just centimeters from his own, his mouth hovers tantalizingly close to Hermann’s jaw, his hair brushes and tickles Hermann’s forehead.

“Great detail, I assume?” Hermann chokes out.

“Oh, excruciating.”

“Well then, my dear,” Hermann says. “Lead the way.”

 

The cab ride home is agony to Hermann. He feels like he’s resisted touching Newt for so long, and now that he finally has permission to do so, they are kept apart by a chatty _cab driver_ of all things. Newt’s fingers rest only centimeters away from Hermann’s own the entire time; it’s all Hermann can do to keep himself from taking them in his hand and kissing them.

Thankfully, as if sensing Hermann’s frustration, Newt takes his hand the moment they enter D’Onofrio’s flat. “Glad I finally get to do this,” he says, stroking a warm thumb over Hermann’s chilled hand.

“Me too,” Hermann says, luxuriating in the feeling of Newt’s hand in his own. It’s not long, however, before nerves start to creep in and he asks, “So, er...what now?”

“Now, I take you to one of D’Onofrio’s spare bedrooms,” Newt says, taking a step closer to Hermann. “And then we can do whatever you want.”

An intoxicating idea, but- “D’Onofrio won’t mind?”

Newt rolls his eyes. “Hermann, if you’d actually _talked_ to me earlier tonight -- instead of, you know, storming out of here -- I could have told you that D’Onofrio wants nothing more than for us to get over our sexual tension. He wasn’t trying to intimidate you at the party -- he was trying to tell us that he _approves_ of you.”

“H-he _knew_?” Hermann squeaks.

“I guess we weren’t exactly being subtle on the dance floor,” Newt says. “He’s glad I found you, he thinks I’ll be happier with you.”

“And do you agree?” Hermann says hesitantly.

“I’m already happier with you,” Newt says firmly. He nuzzles Hermann’s neck. “But I think I would be even _happier_ if we took this to the bedroom.”

Hermann nods hurriedly. “Anything to make you happy,” he whispers, causing Newt to laugh into his neck before dragging him upstairs.

The moment they make it into the bedroom, Newt crowds Hermann to the wall, pressing his lips teasingly to the sharp line of Hermann’s jaw.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” Newt murmurs, kissing him lightly.

“Then get on with it,” Hermann gasps, arching his neck to give Newt more room. He gasps again when Newt begins to suck, licking and biting at the area just above the collar of Hermann’s dress.

Newt runs his hands down the fabric of the dress until they’re low enough to pull up its skirt. The rush of air to Hermann’s ankles leaves him breathless.  The touch of Newt’s hands inside the dress leaves him even more so.

“Tendo didn’t give you any lingerie?” Newt asks. He runs a teasing finger along Hermann’s hips, carressing the place where cotton meets skin.

“If I was aware that _this_ would be a part of today’s program, perhaps I would have asked,” Hermann huffs.

Newt grins and moves his playful hands to Hermann’s thighs. The light touch is simply _maddening_. Hermann’s torn between being overstimulated and begging for more with each brush of Newt’s fingers.

“Maybe next time then,” Newt says, eyes shining with delight at the prospect of a _next time._ Though his hand is currently beneath Hermann’s skirt, Newt seems suddenly shy. His eyes linger on Hermann’s lips and his mouth parts. “Can I…?

Hermann surges forward to capture Newt’s lips in a kiss. Hermann has never been kissed, has never kissed, has certainly never been touched in this way, and the combination of these sensations sends his senses reeling. It’s all he can do to remain standing as his mouth presses against Newt’s, as Newt gently nips at his lower lip and slows his touches in order to match the rhythm of the achingly sweet kiss.

“Come away with me,” Hermann murmurs when they finally break the kiss.

“What?”

It’s hard to speak with his lips still buzzing with sensation and his limbs swaying with dizziness, but he rushes to voice his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about leaving England for awhile, Newton. Well, ‘thinking’ – I hardly ever had the means to do so. I don’t feel safe here, not after the sirens…maybe if we left, we could find another university. Perhaps in America like you said. I could find a teaching position, help you finish your research-”

Newt smashes his lips against Hermann’s again. It’s hardly a proper kiss – not with how much Newt is smiling. “We’ve known each other a day, Hermann,” Newt says, but the giddiness of his grin is enough of a yes that Hermann giggles in beautiful, _glorious_ relief.

“By the time we save up enough for boat tickets, it will have been more than that,” Hermann says, daring to lean in and gently nip the lobe of Newt’s ear. “I think Pentecost would be ready to offer me a position, if we spend sparingly we could do it.”

“He’d better offer you a position,” Newt says. “Because you are _not_ going to be my social secretary anymore.”

“Oh? Am I being fired, Mr. Geiszler?”

“I can’t sleep with you if I’m your boss, now can I?” Newt breathes in his ear. “Yes- yes, Hermann, I want to go back home, I want to find a better university, I want to do all of that with _you_.”

Hermann presses his lips to Newt’s again, moaning when their kisses become more fervent than ever. They lick their way into each other’s mouths, sucking and nipping, so eager to be as close as they possibly can, to press against one another with Newt’s hand still underneath Hermann’s skirt.

“Seems a bit unfair,” Hermann murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“Well, here we are with your hand up my skirt and -- as _lovely_ as that is -- you remain completely clothed. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to take advantage of me,” Hermann teases.

“Can’t have that,” Newt breathes before kissing Hermann again. It’s horribly difficult, but they manage to stop kissing long enough to rid Newt of his suit, leaving only-

“It would appear that you did _not_ leave Tendo’s empty-handed,” Hermann says in wonder. He traces his finger along the intricate black lace of Newt’s corset, the thin, slippery silk of his panties. Hermann caught a glimpse of such items at their first meeting, but now the display is only for _Hermann_ to see – the thought alone is mouth-watering.  

“How could I resist? They’re works of art,” Newt says.

“I wouldn’t call _them_ the work of art here,” Hermann says, letting his eyes roam over Newt’s body. His gaze lingers at the sight of Newt’s tattoos and his corset.  It stutters to a halt at the bulge in Newt’s panties which the silk does absolutely nothing to conceal. Hunger and heat coil deep in Hermann’s belly, leaving him breathless.

He lets Newt take his dress off, gently push him onto the bed, suck his bottom lip. Hermann does not have experience in these matters, but he _wants_ and that is enough. He rubs his cock against the silk of Newt’s panties, groaning at the sight of his pre-cum staining the expensive fabric.

“Am I your first?” Newt says, reverently tracing the line of Hermann’s collarbone before kissing and sucking the area around it. He drags his hips slowly against Hermann’s own.

Hermann places his trembling hands at Newt’s waist.  “Yes,” he whispers.  Newt rewards him for the answer with another agonizingly slow grind of his hips.  Hermann cries out--tries to center himself with the touch of the ribbon and lace of Newt’s corset.

Newt moves away from Hermann’s collarbone to kiss him on the lips, a kiss sweeter and needier than any of the ones they’d exchanged thus far. Hermann’s entire body tingles and shivers with sensation as Newt grinds into him again and again, leaving Hermann’s muscles tight and full of hot, beautiful pressure.

“I-I-” Hermann stutters out, hitching his hips to match Newt’s frantic pace. Oh, how he’d _love_ Newt to also be naked right now, but well- they can always do this again. And again and again and _again._ And for now, the sight of Newt’s cock, hard and straining against the confines of that simple silk, the thought of those beautiful _agains,_ is more than enough, more than enough to buzz and flow through him like electricity-

Hermann comes suddenly, his hips jerking as pleasure seizes his abdomen and fills him head to toe. He pants into Newt’s shoulder as Newt continues moving against him, the other man gasping at the sight of Hermann’s orgasm.  When Hermann licks Newt’s neck and attempts to bite and suck as Newt had done for him, he feels Newt gasp against his skin.

Hermann could have never imagined himself doing this, but the sounds Newt makes are so lovely that he boldly reaches into Newt’s panties and wraps his hand around Newt’s cock.

“Oh, Hermann,” Newt says reverently. His eyes slip close as Hermann strokes him.  Hermann’s inexperience doesn’t matter much, not when they’re this close after having wanted each other all night. It’s not long before Newt’s hips buck into Hermann’s hand, and the other man shudders through his orgasm.

Newt rests his forehead against Hermann’s neck, breathing hard. “T-that was so good.”

‘So good’ is such an understatement that Hermann can only giggle in response.

Newt lightly swats him. “Oh sure, laugh now -- just wait until we wake up and I’m ready to show you all the _other_ things we can do in bed.”

Hermann’s thoughts stutter. “I imagine it will take quite some time to show me _everything_ ,” he manages at last.

“Oh ages,” Newt promises as he lies beside Hermann. Soon he is sweetly kissing all of Hermann that he can reach. “We’ll have to stay together for months -- hell, maybe _years._ ”

Hermann feels so needy, knows they have only known each other a day, but- “Only years?”

“As long as you’ll have me, Hermann,” Newt says, his tone shifting from playful to serious.

“I would quite like that,” Hermann whispers, leaning in to kiss Newt on the lips. Newt’s mouth is sweet and swollen, perfect against Hermann’s own.  

A few kisses later, they finally get around to divesting Newt of his panties and corset. They spoon against each other, naked limbs slow and sated as they tangle together.

“Your dress is going to get wrinkled,” Newt mumbles against Hermann’s skin.

“Sod the dress,” Hermann groans. “I’m certainly not getting up to hang it up -- not when I’ve got you in my arms.”

“You’re so sappy.” Newt couldn’t sound happier about it. His eyes slip shut as he yawns. “Best day ever,” he mumbles, already falling asleep.

“Yes,” Hermann says, pressing a kiss into Newt’s hair – marveling at the fact that it is his privilege to do so. “It has been a most adventurous and rewarding day indeed.”  


End file.
